Irish: The Irish Princess Part 39

She looked up. "So be it," she said, without a s.h.i.+ft in her expression. "Hold no sympathy, Gaelan, as I'm sure this killer holds none for the lives lost, for Meghan."

"He is crafty."

"You are smarter."

He smiled, leaving his chair and coming to her. He went down on one knee. "How could I fail with you by my side?"

She cupped his jaw, kissing his mouth with slow deliberation. "I love you, warrior." Her mouth whispered back and forth across him. "I love you for the gentle heart you did not know you possessed, and for giving its care to me."

Gaelan sank into the heat of her kiss, rising to sweep her into his arms and bear her to the bed of furs. He laid her there and slid into the bed beside her, cradling her in his arms.

"Afraid Fionna will appear?"

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Nay, but that is irritating, never knowing when she will invade."

Siobhan snuggled into the protection of his body and he sighed, running his hand up and down her arm. "I have to return to Donegal, even for a brief time."

"I know." Her grip tightened a bit. "When?"

"Now."

Her indrawn breath filled the little cottage and she rolled to her side and looked at him. "I will miss you."

Tears filled her eyes as she touched the lines of his face. "Raymond is here to protect you, Siobhan. Trust no one but him."

She nodded, kissing him, sniffling, then kissing him again.

Suddenly he rolled to his back, taking her mouth with a ferocious desperation, all devouring, all greed and hunger and unspent pa.s.sion, before he released her and left the bed. Moving to the door, he grabbed his sword and paused, twisting for a last look, his expression so tormented she felt unhinged and afraid and lonely.

He pushed open the door, stepping across the threshold. She called to him and when he turned, her body impacted with his, arms clinging as she sprinkled hot kisses over his jaw, his throat, then whispered, "Come back, husband."

His throat worked furiously as he held her, cradling her head to his shoulder. G.o.d, he did not want to do this, did not want to trust her life to another. "I will, I promise."

Pus.h.i.+ng out of his arms, she turned her face away, choking on a sob as she reentered the cottage. The door slammed behind her, rattling the walls. Gaelan stared for a moment, aching for her, wanting desperately to remain, but if he did not return, the threat surrounding his people would be fulfilled. He continued, pausing when Fionna appeared on the edge of the street, her arms folded, sympathy in her features.

"My man is here to protect her," he said, and she unfolded her arms, frowning. "He's my champion, and I trust him as I do no other." He took a step away, then looked back. "And 'tis impolite to eavesdrop, woman."

"You would trust me?"

"Siobhan does, and that is well enough for me, sorceress. Use your magic if you must."

Fionna nodded and Gaelan walked, twice more pausing on the hillside in indecision before continuing onto where Raymond camped in the woods.

Connal sat on the edge of the parapet, his legs swinging as he shot at the ground below. His throat burned and he blinked, trying not to cry. Gaelan would not like to find him blubbering like a baby. Soldiers did not cry. Then he remembered the tears in his eyes when his lord thought his mother lay bloodied in the bed. Aye, sometimes they cried.

A man without a heart is an empty body, he'd told him. They shared many secrets. Like that Gaelan loved his mama, and that she saved him with her love, whatever that meant. Connal couldn't wait until he was older to discover all these hidden meanings grown-ups spoke of. He notched another pebble and squinted, aiming for a tuft of gra.s.s. Around him soldiers walked the guard, everyone in the castle tending to duty. He shot another pebble, then sighed, twirling the slingshot. He missed Mama. Aunt Rhiannon fussed over him, followed him around like Dermott, and he was sorry he told her to leave him alone. It hurt her feelings. But he wanted his mother. He wanted Gaelan to come home and tell him she was alive. Connal brushed at the tear working down his cheek, then glanced left and right to see if anyone noticed. He climbed to his feet, rubbing his b.u.m, then turned to the battlements. He pushed a wood box to the wall and stepped atop it to see over the edge.

Then he saw him, the black horse tearing across the land.

"PenDragon!" he shouted, and guards looked, soldiers scrambling to open the gates. He rode through the opening, skidding to a halt, kicking up dust and stones. Reese and Jace rushed forward with the knights and soldiers as he flung from the saddle. He shook his head and Connal knew then, he had not found her.

"Connal!" His gaze scanned the crowd. "Someone find my son."

Connal called his name, pus.h.i.+ng between the adults, and Gaelan looked down, smiling and scooping him up in his arms.

Connal sighed and hugged him and thought how lucky he was that he was still loved.

"Ahh, lad, don't cry."

"I'm not!"

His lips twitching, Gaelan rubbed his back, aching to tell him his mother lived but not trusting the tongue of a child. "Come, I am starved."

"You carry me; how much choice have I?"

Impudent whelp, he thought, swinging him to the ground as he entered the hall, noticing first that his crest, their crest, hung over the hearth, then recognized the silence. He glanced at his people, still as they awaited word. He shook his head; some sobbed and fled, others, their shoulders drooping a fraction more as they turned to their duties. The deception turned like soured milk in his stomach.

Driscoll approached, yet Gaelan waved him off, too tired to answer questions when he'd no solutions to offer. Abovestairs and secluded in his chamber, he bathed, Connal always near and quizzing him over his wound. Culhainn recovered near the fire, his gaze constantly on the bed. They dined in private, and though he knew Rhiannon paced beyond the doors, he let her wait, focusing on Connal.

"You have not ridden since I left?"

Connal shook his head, his mouth full of food.

"We shall in the morn then."

He swallowed hurriedly. "Nay. You must search again!"

Gaelan's brows rose at his vehemence. "But I just returned."

"Go again," he pleaded. "She is not dead."

Gaelan leaned over his meal. "I believe that, too." Russet curls spilled over his forehead as Connal stared at his trencher, playing with his food, and Gaelan instantly sensed his apprehension. "You can tell me aught, Connal, and 'twill remain atween us."

He looked up. "Mama told me to keep it secret, but..." Gaelan didn't think he could handle another revelation. "Go on."

"I can feel her."

Gaelan's features stretched tight. Good G.o.d, not him too. "How?"

He shrugged his small shoulders. "'Tis like I can feel her breathing."

Gaelan marveled at the boy's intuition. "I will leave to search soon, but I returned because I thought mayhaps you were lonely."

He rolled his eyes, the notion telling him privacy was scarce. "Aunt Rhiannon wants to always play with me, eat with me-"

"Smother you," Gaelan finished.

"Aye." He yawned hugely. "She took away my slingshot." And he'd obviously nipped it back since it was sticking out of his waistband.

"Who did you hit?"

"Nova. 'Twas an accident, I swear," he insisted.

Smiling, Gaelan swiped his mouth with a sc.r.a.p of cloth and leaned back in the chair. "Want me to speak to your aunt?"

"Nay." Connal left the oversized chair-Siobhan's chair-and came to him. "She is too sad already."

Gaelan's heart did a strange flip in his chest when the lad crawled onto his lap and promptly fell asleep. The trust nearly unraveled his soul. The boy felt warm and solid against him and he inhaled deeply, the scent of wax and lye still permeating the room.

His gaze drifted to the bed, all traces of the murder gone except for the cracked mirror. Scrubbed clean, he thought, but until Siobhan was home, the ugliness would never leave.

Chapter 29.

'Twas good to have a moment alone, Rhiannon thought, without a guard tripping on her skirts. Squatting, Rhiannon fished for another egg and carefully laid it in the basket, then reached for another, her hand stilling.

She rose slowly, slipping her knife free from its slim scabbard as she turned. "I could alarm the entire castle with one scream," she warned.

"You won't."

She scoffed rudely. "My sister is missing and you know where she is! How think you Gaelan will treat you?"

Fear flickered in his features. "I don't know where she is. Touch me once and find the truth." He held out his hand.

She ignored it. "'Tis all you have to say, to tell me?"

"Mayhaps that I am tired and without will? That I watched PenDragon slay four of my friends in seconds and knew I was defeated?"

"Yet you still fight, still you do not see you cannot stop him."

"I have no choice."

"And neither will he. He will show you no mercy." She choked on a sob yet held the knife poised to strike.

His gaze darted to the weapon. "You do not trust me." He took a step.

She raised the blade. "I never did."

"I love you."

Agony sprinted across her face. "You know naught of love!" she hissed, her beauty contorted with rage and heartbreak. "Or you would cease this madness!"

"He will only gather more." His voice was dead, empty of hope.

Her stance softened. "Go to PenDragon, I beg you. Tell him-"

"I cannot! I am sworn!" She was a fool to even ask.

"And what of the oath to me?"

His features twisted with remorse and pain. "And what of your lies, seer?"

Her posture sank, her beautiful face a portrait of regret. "They die with me."

She turned the knife to herself and two-handed, she prepared to plunge it into her breast. His eyes flew wide and he lurched, grasping it, grappling with her before tearing it from her hands and flinging it to the dirt.

He crushed her against him, tightening his hold to near punis.h.i.+ng when she struggled to escape. Her breath was hot and angry, heating the skin of his collarbone.

Around them geese squawked.

He pushed his fingers into her hair, tilting her head, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I hate you!" Tears fell, unheeded.

"I love you."

She gasped, choking on her own breath, her hands wedged between them and pus.h.i.+ng at him with each word. "You have lost, Patrick. You have done too much, waited too long. This cannot be undone."

"This can be."

He captured her mouth, crus.h.i.+ng the breath from her lungs, drinking it in a kiss so furious with his emotions, she could not fight it. No woman could. Rhiannon opened for him, laying her body to his with the heat of a fire, layer to layer, her small hands cupping his face and taking back the years lost in duty and self-preservation.

He groaned, a sound of dark suffering and ruination, with her first touch. It had destroyed her years before, and had haunted him since. Yet Patrick could not cease wanting her, could not crush the hunger wailing for release inside him. Both knew their hearts ached to surrender, longed to be joined and beating as one when every force around them ripped them apart. They would never agree, never compromise their beliefs or duty, not even to each other, not even for their love. Yet in the darkness of the dovecote, the stench fading to the sweetness of possession, his hands roughly mapped her body, dragging her blood red gown upward until he cupped the bare skin of her b.u.t.tocks. Her breathing increased with her movements, nimble fingers tearing at his braies and he leaned back against the wall, uncaring of the people only yards beyond. Uncaring that if discovered, he would be hung in minutes, and when she freed him into her palm, stroking him, he lifted her, spreading her legs around his hips and shoving to her wet haven. Rhiannon moaned, throwing her head back, and he twisted, pus.h.i.+ng her to the wall, withdrawing and plunging into her yielding body, taking her like a man with nothing left to lose.

Siobhan stepped into the center of the forest. "Raymond?"

DeClare strode forward, smiling sheepishly. "My lady," he said with a bow.

"I hope you were not trying to hide. You trounce like a boar," she tisked, shaking her head and smothering a smile.

Suddenly he stepped closer, his eyes wide as he examined her face. "Good Lord above."

Siobhan reddened. "Hideous, aren't I?" She was too aware that the bruises had a horrible greenish yellow cast, some still purple and sc.r.a.ped.